My final ride at Palo Duro Canyon wasn’t quite finished. I’d found an unmarked trail and discovered one of various reasons why it was so.

There was surprising diversity in the canyon. Aside from the occasional crack, there were also rocks to be found,

caves to be explored,

and trees with shade (or at least sunblock).

The trails, in kind, were equally diverse ranging from easy to challenging. The climb up Rock Garden was probably the most difficult but it was over 90 degrees and crowded with hikers. In any case, the trails and scenery make Palo Duro worth a visit.

Spending Thanksgiving in the Grand Canyon of Texas, Palo Duro, has one significant shortcoming, the perfume of the Panhandle. Thankfully, the wind and cooler temps gave me a little nasal congestion so I got a reprieve.

I was also generally too distracted by the landscape to focus on the inconsequential. Lighthouse Rock is the most notable hoodoo.

Turkey jerky, dried cranberries, and sweet potato crisps taste great on the trail but I’m looking forward to a make-up Thanksgiving meal when I return to civilization. After exploring the 25 miles of trail at Palo Duro and 65 at Caprock, I’ll be plenty ready to eat it.

No one would ever accuse me of being a groupie. I’ve never been overly enthusiastic about an actor, sports team, or much of anything except maybe White Castle. Yes, I’ve seen MDC in Thailand and the Untouchables in Tijuana but those were matters of chance, not intention. As I found myself driving 330 miles to see Henry Rollins, I had to wonder… am I a fanboy (girl)?

The Kessler theater located in… Dallas.

Had it been a weekend in Houston, I would’t have given it a second thought. But no, it was Tuesday, a school night, in Dallas of all places, and I had to administer the PSAT in the morning. I also discovered that a freeway closure would impede my return trip and well, even Henry started the evening talking about enjoying the experience of encountering “weather”. The remnants of some hurricane was saturating the area.

330 miles to see Henry’s… photos.

I may have even been able to linger in denial embracing the notion that its the Trump years and Henry would have much to say on the topic, making it politics but uh, no… it was clearly advertised as a slideshow. A slideshow… I was driving 330 miles in miserable conditions to see pictures taken by a punk icon… no Margaret Bourke-White here. No seat, either. All the seats had sold out but my $40 allowed me to stand in his presence.

As always, Henry was highly entertaining. I can’t say that he has the same effect on me as he did 35 years ago when I left City Gardens staring at the area of my forearm where his sweat had dripped on me for the first time but there’s still something that impels me to go out of my way to see him. I’m not currently on my way to Colorado hoping to catch him at the Boulder Theater tomorrow so I’m probably safe from fanboyism but maybe I’ll stop teasing Lora about stalking Mumford and Sons… maybe.

A few weeks after I finished the Munda Biddi, my Trek was stolen. I never expected to see him again, so you can imagine my surprise when I received an email from a Senior Constable of the Perth Police about retrieving my stolen property. Initially, I thought it was a scam. Eventually, I came to realize I just needed to figure out how to bring him home! It took a few weeks to work out the necessary logistics, but…

“now he’s back and things’ll be fine.”

We’ve already explored about 30 miles of rocky Austin trail together. I still wonder about our time apart but its been great getting reacquainted.